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So, this bloke—let’s call him Nader, like in the film—files a claim, says his car got smashed outside some dodgy joint. I’m like, “You shall not pass!” till I get the full story. Turns out, he’s tryna "find a prostitute"—not just any, mind ya, but one he swears stole his wallet *and* keyed his ride. Mate, I’m laughin’—this fool’s out here chasin’ tail and thinks I’ll just sign off on his bullshit? Nah, fam!

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Finally, the bus rolls up, and it’s packed. I squeeze in, and it smells like a mix of chips and wet dog. Lovely. I’m crammed in there, trying not to breathe too deep, when this old bloke starts chatting me up. He’s going on about the history of Carmarthen Castle. I’m like, “Mate, I’m just trying to survive this bus ride.” But he’s relentless. Apparently, Carmarthen’s got some serious history. Romans, Normans, you name it. I’m half-listening, half-dreaming of a pint at The Old Market Tavern.

Residents thanked as Carmarthen gas works completed on time